


All the Lives We Have to Live

by SilentWaves



Series: Waves' Dr. STONE Week 2020 [3]
Category: Dr. STONE (Anime), Dr. STONE (Manga)
Genre: Atheist Character, Burn injuries, Day 3 - Reincarnation, Dr STONE Week 2020, Eventual Happy Ending, Let me know if I missed any tags, M/M, Murder, Physical Disability, Reincarnation, Serious Injuries, major character death is only because they gotta die to reincarnate, the tags make it seem darker than it is, there's some made-up science on reincarnation because senku made me do it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:42:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24991726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentWaves/pseuds/SilentWaves
Summary: The only thing more uncertain than the future is the past. Senku and Gen are old souls, reincarnated many times over into new and difficult lives. As their scars fade with their memories, the only constant across every lifetime is each other.
Relationships: Asagiri Gen & Ishigami Senkuu, Asagiri Gen/Ishigami Senkuu
Series: Waves' Dr. STONE Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806610
Comments: 17
Kudos: 103
Collections: Dr. Stone Week 2020





	All the Lives We Have to Live

**Author's Note:**

> There is… tad bit of canon divergence, but its manga spoiler-free!! There were a few character mentions and references, but they’re all vague and don't really give anything away, so anything that’s post-canon for the anime is all made up. 
> 
> But yeah! I really hope y'all enjoy this one. It's a little more stylistic than my usual writing, but I had a lot of fun with the different reincarnations and time periods that they go through.

Some souls are old, much older than their physical bodies. They’re the souls that learn over millennia, from life and death, again and again. They don’t always remember everything that they encounter from past lives, but they’ll always remember enough.

And even though fate is a fickle bitch, it’ll never be strong enough to force apart two souls that are meant to be together.

* * *

**Year: 150 000 BCE. The Stone Ages**

_It was beautiful,_ was the young boy’s first thought while looking out of his cave. The blazes after the lightning storm was consuming the forest, and the boy wanted to know what it was.

He has looked in rivers and puddles of water before. The image was never all that clear, distorted by ripples or fish, but at a still pond, the boy could see that he had brilliant red eyes, the same colour as the fire in front of him.

He approached it. He had never seen anything like it before. There were only wild animals and a few others that looked like him in the world. He had never seen such a… a magical sight.

And magic it must be, something so mysterious and beautiful couldn’t be explained by anything the boy’s seen so far, because he could feel the energy from the fire, although he doesn’t know the name. Language wasn’t important when he was face to face with a force stronger than all the animals and people he’s seen before. And he didn’t know anything about this force at all, but he _wanted_ to know.

He wanted to use it. The boy was weak, he knew. His luck was absolutely horrible, because anyone born into this world without the capacity to hunt and kill may as well already be dead. The only reason he’d come this far was because of the way he’d observed others. He couldn’t hunt, and he couldn’t run, and he couldn’t kill, but he could learn.

And learning, it turns out, could keep a person alive for a very long time in their world.

He knew which animals sounds to avoid, and what a long-dead body smelled like versus a recently-dead one. He knew that people brawled very often over food, and over water, but he discovered that at the base of certain mountains he could find water that was already safe to drink.

It would be hot, painfully so, but the boy found out that he simply needed to wait a while and it would cool down enough for him to drink. He found a cave near there, and decided that the base of the volcano, though he didn’t recognize what it was at the time, would become his new home.

As he stares at the burning flames that are practically licking his skin, and he is reminded of home. 

If he had this, he would no longer need to cower in the hot drinking water when it got cold, and he would never have to rely on the one ever-shrinking pool that was the only thing keeping him alive. The magic, the _energy_ from the force in front of him would make sure that any water he brings to it would be safe to drink.

He didn’t know why, but that was the only explanation. The heat of his boiling spring was the only difference between safe and unsafe drinking water. He’d tried the other kind before, the kind that was cold, and he’d thrown it back up with his already-sparse meal almost immediately afterwards.

He decided. He would take this beautiful flame and make it his own. He tried to grab it, but his right hand screamed and he yanked it back.

_He had it!_ He thought, not in any particular language or voice, but with the general sentiment of success. He would be able to suffer through losing a hand if that meant he could have this fire. 

He was relishing in his success, the joy of having a weapon to use against any future animals or people almost overshadowing the sheer _pain_ that he felt as his skin turned red, and then, as it was turning dark and beginning to spread to the rest of the boy’s arm, he began to panic.

His hand was dying, he could tell. He couldn’t move it anymore, though that might just be because the sensation of stabbing shoots through it anytime he tries. But if that happened to the rest of his body, he would never be able to escape the next lion that came by, if he was frozen from the pain and burning all the way through.

So he ran.

He ran as far as he could, hoping to somehow outrun the magical force that had attached itself to his arm. He was never a fast runner, which is probably why the fire never let go. But the fear of death and the realization that the fire was no longer advancing on his arm was helping the boy forget the pain, just for a bit.

But he was already tired. He wouldn’t risk bringing the fire back to his home, or it might end up being empowered by the boiling spring that had a similar power.

He kept running, though his legs were beginning to burn almost as much as his hand. He kept running, finding a familiar river near his hunting grounds and followed it so that he wouldn’t get lost. He kept running, though he was starting to run out of air and he was stumbling over his feet more and more often. He was probably leaving bloody footprints and bits of his charred hand that would be easily tracked, and he was likely never going to have use of his right hand ever again, but he couldn’t stop running.

He was just about to give in to the angry blaze of energy on his arm, not coming up with any ideas of escape and too tired to keep thinking, when he’s thrown by a person that he didn’t realize was there.

He landed in water. He was a good swimmer, because he learned that most others weren’t, and he needed every advantage he could get. But he realized that it was much harder now, with his legs that were already going numb from fatigue, and one of his arms still burning——

No. It was not burning. He stared at it. He couldn’t feel anything, even though his hand was screaming with pain earlier. He could feel the pain in some parts of his arm still, though the fire was less severe there. He was so astounded by it all that he opted to float in the water, with his left hand lightly treading to help him stay on the surface, and experimented.

Whenever he lifted his arm out of the water, he could feel the pain coming back almost immediately. The place where his hand once was had turned almost entirely black, and much slimmer than his other hand. He couldn’t move any part of it, in or out of the water. Judging from its grotesque appearance that’s got him feeling a bit more nauseous than he would like to be, he didn’t expect to feel anything from it anytime soon. 

He inspected it more, though he found that once the initial waves of nausea wore off, he was more intrigued by it than disgusted. _So, this was what the fire could do,_ was what the boy would have said, or at least, the general idea of it. Expressing one’s thoughts out loud weren’t exactly common unless they wanted to be eaten by any nearby animals or humans.

He would never have thought of the water as a way to escape from the blaze. He’d never encountered a situation like that before, but now he knows. 

Snapping to attention, the boy realizes that someone had to have pushed him in. That someone was probably still there. He uprights himself, and looks around for the potential enemy — or ally — that he just encountered.

Staring back at him is a plain boy around his age, maybe older. Or, he would have been plain, if he didn’t have a beautiful streak of white in his otherwise dark hair. The red-eyed boy didn’t know what to make of this, other than that the other boy didn’t look scary at all.

He offered him a hand, but the boy shook his head. He was happy in the water, and he couldn’t face the pain of his arm otherwise. He gestured vaguely to the black hand-like shape that made up his right arm, and the other boy nodded in understanding.

_He must have known someone who suffered from the magical energy as well_ the red-eyed boy thought while looking him over. He didn’t seem harmful, but he also didn’t seem harmless. They appeared to be very similar people, both weak and frail in comparison to the strong ones that thrived in this world. _He must have only survived this long from learning,_ was a mutual sentiment between the two of them.

The red-eyed boy did not fear him though. If the boy with the strangely-coloured hair wanted to hurt him he would have done so a long time ago, or simply watched as he ran himself ragged and allowed the heat to consume him.

No, this boy remembered, and he learned, and in this world, the weak like them had only one way to survive: to band together. The other boy had the same look in his eye.

When he could finally get himself out of the river, much later when the sun was beginning to turn orange and disappear for the day, the other boy offered a handful of berries as a peace and alliance offering. They both knew that if the food were to ever run too low or the winters too cold, that they would have no choice but to separate or to fight, but until then, they would help each other out.

When the other boy ate a berry, proving that it wasn’t dangerous, they both ate heartily. It was sugary, and sweet, and such a delight that the younger boy was almost able to forget about the fact that he’ll no longer be able to feel, much less use, his right arm. 

They helped each other out, with the first showing the other the hot spring that he had made home, and the second showing the first which berries could be eaten and which ones were to be avoided at all costs. They researched, and the red-eyed boy eventually found a way to recreate the flaming energy without risking his own life in the process. 

The flame would burn with the wood, and the flame would stop with the water.

These were the only things they knew, but they were used to fending for themselves with very little on their hands, and they soon made an efficient way for keeping warm at night without using their spring of boiling water. They would take turns at night, feeding branches to the fire and making sure it doesn’t go out as the other sleeps. The initial creation of the fire from rubbing two sticks together was way too much effort on both their parts that it wasn’t worth it to do it again. They covered their cave with branches so that the light wouldn’t attract any other people, ones that could mean harm. 

Rainy days were no longer a problem, as the poor visibility benefitted them more than not. They discovered they could drink the rain, so they would collect it in leaves and cupped hands. The fire would keep them warm, and the cave they stayed in prevented rain from putting it out. 

They grew older together, creating traps from vines and small branches, or gathering berries when they could. Winters were hard, but they knew which trees they could use as food. Summers were hard too, when their fire did more harm than good.

But they enjoyed each others’ company, teaching and learning from each other, discovering new things together, living together. The red-eyed boy came to love the streak of white on the other, and the one with the bi-coloured hair found that red became his favourite colour.

The world was harsh, and it was rare for anyone to live past the age where they could have children, but the two boys learned, and they lived, long enough to become men.

They might have kept living for much longer too, if they weren’t living at the base of a volcano.

They didn’t know this, that their hot spring full of drinking water was bait for a much more serious threat than dehydration.

It started one day in the summer, when the two men had caught a rabbit with their traps, and were having a feast. Then came the snow, but it wasn’t snow. It didn’t melt, and it wasn’t cold. When it landed in their water, it floated, and it didn’t gather together like water did.

They didn’t know what to do, but then again, they didn’t know a lot of things, so they silently decided that they would wait inside the cave until the storm of strange rocks had passed.

There wasn’t anything they could do except wait by their fire and anxiously chew on their rabbit legs, which they’ve found a long time ago to taste much better after it’s been put over their flame. 

They waited, and waited, but the storm continued through the day. They stayed up together that night, because it was when the rain of small rocks stopped that the real danger came.

They left their cave to inspect the area, only to realize that the top of what they thought to be a mountain was bright red and shooting out flaming rocks more and more by the second.

The red-eyed man did not have good experiences with uncontrolled fire, and every instinct told him to run. The other man too, seemed to want out with every fibre of his being, but as they stared, they saw the smoke come out.

But it wasn’t smoke. It was darker, and it was faster.

In another life, they might learn that they’re witnessing a pyroclastic surge, but in this one, they didn’t know anything about it. They only saw a cloud of death, and that may as well be what it was. 

It was too fast, and no matter how far their relatively-weak legs could possibly carry them, it would be nowhere near far enough to escape the inevitable.

They stared at each other, and they realized this.

Without knowing what they were doing, they grabbed onto each others’ hands, the red-eyed man’s left hand in the other man’s right, finding comfort in each others’ presence.

At best, they only had a few seconds left before the cloud could reach them, but when it did, they were smiling at each other, hands clasped tight, as they exchange a silent farewell, happy to have known each other in an otherwise cruel world.

After this life, both Senku and Gen had treasured fire, but they were all the more careful around it as well.

* * *

**Year: 2570 BCE. Ancient Egypt**

There was a great pharaoh born into the Egyptian royal family that year. He was beautiful, and intelligent, and his first words were used to command a servant to bring him a bowl of crushed grapes. He had power, and he wasn’t afraid to use it.

He had a wonderful name, just as powerful as he was, but he always found it a mouthful outside of professional situations, so among friends he was always just referred to as “Gen”. The documentation would never dare include a king’s nickname on lasting records, so he was only remembered by his given name. He was certain to be king, as he was born an only child, and he was living the most comfortable life possible, suitable for his position.

He had lovely servants to attend to him, and his father had been born ill, so he practically had a foot on the throne already. He goes to the temples to pray to the gods everyday, gaining favour from the priests, and he knows to descend to the villages often to purchase from their small businesses and ensure that there are no talks of rebellion.

Gen’s life would have been perfect, had he not been born with a streak of white hair. What society would have later known to be simply a harmless case of poliosis, Ancient Egypt wasn’t quite as logical. Gen’s parents knew from his birth that had his hair ever been made known to the public, he would be declared as someone unfavourable to the gods, and thus not fit to be ruler of their empire. 

So, from the moment he was born, Gen’s hair was dyed black all the way through. He wore dark kohl eyeliner everyday to cover up the bit of white on his eyelashes, and he had long ensured that those present for his birth, with the exception of his parents, were killed in a manner that didn’t incur suspicion onto the family.

He would go on to do great things, he’d known that much since he was old enough to understand the concept. He would built a grand statue, or a monument, or something equally as grand. He didn’t want to wage a war unless as a last resort, because he never wanted to be remembered through history as the king who fell Egypt, or an idiot general, or anything of similar disgrace.

But yes, he would make a monument, against the High Priest Ibara’s suggestions. Gen never trusted him, especially not as a messenger of the reverent gods that kept his empire safe from tragedy. If he weren’t already a rung above Ibara on the political ladder, then he would have considered becoming High Priest himself.

“That is my decision, so it is final,” Gen stares blankly ahead. He always feels a bit cold, which was usually a benefit in a country as hot as Egypt, but not whenever he’s inside where the pools absorb the heat and there’s too much shadow for the sun’s rays to reach. And it’s not like he could huddle around a fire when there were others around, so he had to simply hope that Ibara gave up and left before his fingers froze off. 

“I, ah, yes of course, your majesty. But you see, we haven’t had a war in quite a while, and, well, I think I could make a very persuasive case about our need for more farmland…” Ibara trails off as Gen holds up his hand.

“Are you questioning my authority?” He was only 11 years old at the time, but he had already succeeded his father in the position, and he wasn’t about to let some slimy old man question his decisions.

“I… Well, with no disrest, your greatship,” Ibara bows even deeper, if that was possible. Gen thinks it does nothing except hide his wicked grin. Ibara continues, “Some trusted and dearly beloved members of the court have been wondering if, well, just perhaps, that you were against the idea of violence because of your age.”

Gen had an idea of who exactly thought such a thing, because he was bowing right in front of him. He wasn’t against war because he was young, and he wasn’t naive because he was against the idea of war. Gen was always told that he was mature for his age, not that he didn’t know it already. It didn’t take an idiot to realize that negotiations were always better than any war waged. After all, the land that’s destroyed in the process wouldn’t be useful to either side after it’s done and over with. But he doesn’t voice this thought. He knows that the gods would encourage war, for glory, for infamy, so he lies instead. “I am aware that a victory in war is a glorious tribute to the gods. That is one thing that I would never dismiss because of something as trite as age.”

“Right, your highness,” Ibara sinks so far into the ground Gen briefly wonders if he should call a servant in later to scrape him off afterwards. “Well then, if I may excuse myself.”

“You may,” _Finally,_ Gen thought. He’d be able to find a few oil lamps scented with his favourite flowers, and finally warm up a bit. 

He returned to his room, carrying scrolls gathered from nearby sources in the process. The servants had always assumed that Gen shut himself away for so long every day for the sake of getting ahead on his studies, learning war formations and the best ways to grow papyrus.

But what he was really interested in were the biographies. Gen had his own in the works, as his life had fortunately not ended at such a young age. He hoped to be able to add something grand to it someday. He, as soon as he was able to read, wanted to find out about the other people around him. It was a truly unfortunate thing that only the rulers and the important generals had biographies that survived. Gen wanted to know more about the common folk too. He would watch as they came in and asked for better wages, and he learned quickly how to reject their offer in a way that practically had them suggesting the idea themselves. They would leave happy, and Gen would be no less richer.

He loved it. Seeing the people was his favourite part of the day, and why he adored his position as the ruler.

But that wasn’t enough. He didn’t want simple poetry of praise to be the only thing left in his history. He wanted to be remembered for something _bigger_ , but he had no idea what kind of monument he could build.

If he built a grand statue of himself, he would likely be remembered as a narcissist, and after some late-night reading, he found that most narcissist rulers would end up dead through assassination or uprising.

That was not how Gen wanted to go.

He briefly considered making a monument to celebrate the gods, as is the default response to this type of conundrum, but he feared that something not quite grand enough would displease them, and Gen would be responsible for the next infestation or disaster. 

He could make a tomb. A wonderful and grand tomb, maybe not for himself, but for the wifes that he’ll no doubt take. Maybe even for a son or a daughter instead of himself. That way, he’ll be known for his great vision, but also that it wasn’t done out of narcissism. 

Gen had decided. 

He would commission the most majestic of tombs, maybe even multiple lined up in a row, and, as he brainstormed, perhaps even add a large statue to protect them. He was listing all the protective gods to ponder on which one wouldn’t mind being used as a protector of the dead. 

Gen doesn’t care much for his own tomb when he eventually dies, since it’ll be his _ka_ that’s judged, not the extravagance of his tomb, when he’s requesting entry into the afterlife. As long as the mummification ceremony is done correctly, Gen has no reason to make his own tomb anything great. Instead, he would have a great monument under his name. Not a pointless war, not a self-obsessed statue, but a tomb for the next generation. Gen would be remembered _forever_ , and the gods would adore him for he great tribute he made for their blessed land.

He had drafted many ideas, most too extravagant to be realistically accomplished, and many too dull for Gen to ever have anyone else see. He knew that he wanted something spiritual, so that the general public would know that the tribute was indeed made to the gods, as well as the gods themselves. After some hours of thinking and sketching, he decided that he would find a capable architect and think about this in the morning.

A week later, Gen received the report that the most capable architect in the empire was located and brought to him. He eagerly walks — not too fast, though it’s obvious that he’s in a rush — to the main hall of their estate. There was a meek young boy kneeling respectfully where Gen was expecting an elderly professional to be. 

He introduced himself nevertheless, because he might be an apprentice, and it would do no good to make a bad first impression on the architect who would construct his glory.

The boy introduced himself as well, though the name that came from his lips contained unfamiliar syllables, and Gen found himself struggling in repeating it in his own mind.

“Sorry, I’m an orphan from a land that’s a bit east of here,” He was still kneeling, not daring to look up until the king gives him permission. The boy spoke with a slight accent, and his right arm is bent awkwardly, though not enough to be considered disrespectful. Gen looks at him a bit more critically. At first, he had thought that the boy had been significantly younger, but he found that it was simply the impression given by his scraggly hair (appearing as though there was an honest effort to tame it, but the fine hair had simply refused to cooperate) and his raggedy clothing (though Gen supposes he was biased, as most commoner clothing looks relatively ragged). The boy speaks again, “Your majesty, please simply call me ‘Shen’, it the only sound that is more familiar to this land.”

“Alright then, Shen.” Gen says. “While we are working in a non-professional setting, you may call me ‘Gen’. I find that my full name tends to become quite a mouthful, and it becomes quite tedious to hear.”

“Of course, your majesty.” Shen spoke with a hint of wonder in his voice. Gen wonders if it’s the first time that he’s come into the royal estate, and thus the first time that he could marvel at the king — the closest mortal to a god that he could ever meet. He thinks about it further, and concludes that Shen must have never come in, because his hair was so fair that it almost looked white under the sunlight, and Gen would have remembered such a brilliant shade.

“You may lift you head. We are to be collaborators from now, and you will treat this arrangement as such.” Gen says. There wasn’t anything against having familiar relations with a commoner if there was purpose to it, and Gen’s pretty sure that the largest construction in all of human history would constitute as a very valid purpose.

Shen lifts his head, and Gen _gasps_. He knows that he was probably incredibly un-kingly for doing so, but at the moment, Gen couldn’t bring himself to care. Shen’s eyes were such a brilliant red. They reminded Gen of something, something important, and familiar, and warm, but he can’t identify the exact cause of this sentiment.

He hastily apologizes, after he realizes that he was staring long enough for Shen to avert his eyes, gaze turning sideways and away. “My apologies, dear Shen. That was incredibly impolite of me. May I offer some dates or raisins as repentance?”

“No, it’s alright,” Gen had noticed it earlier, but the more he listens for it the more he hears. Shen rolls his r’s a little forcefully, and he moved stiffly around his right arm. Gen didn’t mention anything, because Shen was only around nine years old, after all, it must have been difficult for him to learn a new language so young. And he wasn’t sure what the case was with his arm, but an injury wouldn’t affect his capacity to think up a brilliant structure. Shen continues. “I was born under an unlucky star, they told me, for my eyes and my hair.” Gen glances up, and absolutely, now that he was looking closely, Shen’s hair hadn’t been simply a peculiar light shade of blond after all, but instead pure white. Gen almost reaches for his own dyed-black hair, reminded of his own streak, but restrains himself. Shen hastily adds, “But I can assure you, your majesty, I’ve read all the scrolls in every library I could find, and I can swear that you will not find a better architect than I.”

“Of course,” Gen, of all people, would not reject someone because of something from their birth. Not that anyone other than his parents know of his hair, of course. “And I would not say that you were born under an unlucky star at all, Shen. Your eyes are of a vibrance that even gold cannot compare to.” He hadn’t meant to compliment the boy, the words slipping past his lips before he even realized it. It was the truth though, and Gen had no qualms about telling it.

Shen turns away, bowing his head to disguise his face. Gen guessed, based on the red of his ears, that Shen was flustered. Shen bows deeper, “Many thanks, your majesty. I am undeserving of your compliments.”

“No need,” Gen waved for the guard servants to escort them to his private study. “I will show you my plans, and you will find a way to make it into reality. Your looks are of no consequence to that.” His gaze flickers back to Shen’s arm. If he didn’t want to say anything, Gen would not be so disrespectful as to demand him to act against his wishes.

Shen bows again, and follows him, “So, your majesty—”

“Please just call me ‘Gen’, it really does get suffocating with all the formalities all the time,” Gen interrupts.

“Of course… Gen.” Shen takes out his large leather pouch, which was filled to the brim with reference scrolls, quills, and papyrus. “I was just wondering what kind of project you were hoping to construct. There are a few things that the gods will not allow us to build, such as a floating castle, for example, and I just wanted to make sure this project was in the realm of possibility.”

Had they been alone, Gen would have let out a snort, “Of course it is. It may take years to accomplish, but I want a set of tombs with a guard statue.”

“Alright,” Shen makes a note on a small piece of papyrus. “I can see to it that it will last a very long time. What is the shape and size of it?”

“It will be the largest structure in all of Egypt, nay, of the whole known world.” Gen says, his eyes alight with excitement. “Egypt is prosperous right now, so it is only right to thank the gods with an offering equally as grand.”

“Of course,” They had reached Gen’s study by now, and he shows Shen the interior. “These are the initial sketches, but do add your own suggestions.”

Shen analyzes the papyri for a bit. “It seems that there is a lot of spiritual focus in your concepts.”

“Yes, there are. If I am to make an offering to the gods, it must be obviously attributed to them, no?” Gen takes a seat, and pulls out another chair as an invitation for Shen to as well.

Shen accepts it, “I like the statue of the sphinx. Such a blessed cat would be great decor.” He stares closely. “Though, I hope you’re aware that I’m no sculptor. I can create the prints for the designs and the calculations, but you will still have to commission professionals to work on the final project.”

“That is a relief, dear Shen,” Gen nods at him. “It does seem awfully suspicious when someone advertises too many skills. The most telling aspect of a scam, really.”

Shen nods, “Right.” He studies the tombs next. “I don’t know if I can create something that literally touches the heavens, as it seems sacrilegious,” He glances up, “I mean that in the most respectful way possible.”

“No, you make a fair point. We would not want to anger them.” Gen pauses to think. He had seen a scroll somewhere that mentioned a shape, one that is known to guide _ka_ s to the heavens.

“If you want something like that, we could always make a pyramid.” Shen’s brows furrow around his bright red eyes, thinking.

_Ah, so that was the shape. Well, it wouldn’t do._ Gen thought. “A pyramid? Wouldn’t that be a bit too small to be the next largest structure for mankind?” Gen remembered the pyramids that were already built. The blocks were too heavy to be easily towed, so the result was a lot of tired workers and angry slaves. Gen had an image of his own decapitated head, and he shuddered. He could not allow that.

“I’ve researched many inventions recently,” Shen begun, sketching them on a blank sheet of papyrus as he spoke. “They could be effective in moving the limestone much more efficiently, and we could use slippery clay to help with transport.”

“Oh?” Gen was definitely paying attention now. Whoever this boy was, who was at least a year or two younger than Gen himself, could be the real deal.

“Yes, I would estimate a workforce of…” Shen thought for a second, “20 to 30 thousand.”

“20 to 30 thousand?” Gen repeated, confounded. “That’ll require most working-class citizens in Cairo!”

“Right, but if you were to attempt to create such a large structure, you need to have such a workforce to ensure that everything can remain safe and efficient.” Shen said. “And besides, without these inventions, the workforce could have easily been 100 000.”

“Well then, if it must be done.” Gen sighed. He would have to convince a lot of citizens that this was for the good of Egypt, though a thrill of excitement shot through his spine at the idea of talking to and convincing so many people.

“And you said that this was a tomb? Is it for yourself?” Shen asked.

“No, it is for my future bloodline to safely ascend to the heavens.” Gen explained, though it had sounded practiced even to his own ears. Sure, that was the actual purpose of the pyramids themselves, but the _real_ purpose was to give Gen glory.

“Sure.” Shen does not look convinced, but he also knows that it isn’t his position to question royalty. “So, let’s get planning.”

They plan, and they plan, and they _plan_. At eleven years old, Gen had already matured quite a bit for his age, but the concept of time still hadn’t made itself familiar to him yet.

It took them 3 years to finish the blueprints, and another 5 to finish gathering all the materials and funds required without bankrupting the empire. By then, Gen had turned 19 years old, and Shen, 18.

In the meantime, Gen found himself with an ever-growing attraction to the red-eyed boy that worked beside him. There were no rules in Ancient Egypt about men loving men, but there were rules about kings loving male commoners. If they could not produce an heir, then there was really no point to it at all, in the opinion of the aristocracy and the heavens. 

So even if Gen sometimes would get an inkling of an idea that Shen loved him as well, there would be nothing that could be done with it.

He had taken proposed marriages, gotten himself a few wives whom he told right after their engagement that he had no intention of devoting himself to her unless she was the one to mother his child. It was cold, but they would have broken off the marriage if they felt unhappy with the arrangement.

As a result, Gen slowly found himself surrounded by noble women who wanted a free life from their households and arranged marriages with those they did not love. They would go to Gen to get married as one of his many wives, and spend most of their days with the commoner men whom they’ve fallen in love with.

It was almost pitiful, seeing such a situation that would have applied to Gen and his subject of attraction had he simply not been born king.

But such is fate. And Gen would not tempt it.

He did not tempt fate when he was 12 years old, and he was too careless one morning with his hair-dyeing routine. Shen had burst into his room before Gen had even remembered to mix his dye, as he was too excited about the prospect of their project finally coming together to prioritize a mundane of a thing as mere appearances. And he had panicked, because the roots of his hair were too long now to be dismissed as an odd reflection from the sun, and he had become good friends with Shen over the past few years — he didn’t want to kill him for knowing about his misfortune from the gods. But Shen didn’t seem to think so, lightly brushing the white parts, saying that it would be a unique and striking look if Gen allowed it to grow out. Shen had spoken it so softly and kindly that Gen had even considered the notion for a full minute before shutting it down.

He did not tempt fate when he was 15 years old, listening to Shen’s talk about how his inventions will work, and the reasoning and logic behind every explanation was so sound Gen found himself thinking more than once that Shen had one of the brightest minds that Gen’s ever known. Shen would always say that he was simply building off of the knowledge of generations past, researching and researching until he finds a way to recreate it for his own purposes, but Gen never thought anything Shen was doing could ever be considered _simple_.

He did not tempt fate when he was 18 years old, when Shen had his growth spurt and shot up in height (though not to be quite as tall as Gen is) and suddenly none of his clothes fit him right anymore, and Gen would be constantly trying to find the most suitable clothes for his friend. He had resisted the urge to buy him gilded necklaces and silk tunics many times then, because his favour would become evident to even the most obtuse citizen.

And he would not tempt fate now.

No matter how many times Gen wanted to meet with Shen in a non-professional setting, no matter how many times Gen wanted contact that was just a bit more intimate than the occasional brushing of their hands while working, no matter how many times Gen had thought of how to make himself more attractive to Shen even though he knew his friend wouldn’t see Gen any differently either way… He couldn’t.

The gods would never allow it. Ibara had come into the estate more often then not at inconvenient times, when Gen’s allowed himself to relax just a bit _too_ much around Shen. He would come in when Gen was leaning just a bit too close, laugh in a way that’s just a bit too unrestrained, smile just a centimeter too brightly. And Gen knew that his flinch whenever he realized that Ibara had come in was even more telling than the acts themselves.

Gen, when he goes to the afterlife, would like to be able to have his body react as well to lying as his voice does. He knows body language, knows how to read it, knows how to hide it (in theory, at least), but he couldn’t help his eyes dilating just a fraction too wide when he sees a flash of red and white in his peripheral. And he couldn’t help his body from subconsciously leaning towards Shen as they’re working. And he couldn’t help his hands as he writes and draws. 

He found out very soon that Shen could not move most of his right arm, which is why it was so often bend at odd angles. Gen hated himself for thinking it, but he was grateful that Shen had become left-handed as a result, because it gave Gen the opportunity to write with just a bit more flourish than was strictly necessary, resulting in the brushing of their fingers, their wrists, their forearms, as they work together. Not once did either one suggest to switch spots so that their arms wouldn’t be in near-constant contact.

No, Gen could not help his own body from showing the signs that were all too obvious to a snake like Ibara.

And maybe it was fate, maybe it was simply a lack of the gods’ favour, or maybe it was a simple case of power-hungry humans being their power-hungry selves.

Gen would have no way of knowing which was the cause of Shen’s mysterious assassination, a month after the construction of the pyramids had finished. He had his suspicious, but he was too full of grief to act on them at the time. 

But that night, as he was provided a goblet of wine in hopes of helping him sleep, he accepted the cup from Ibara without bothering to think about it any further. A small lapse in judgement, and Gen became known from then onward as not only the great man to build the Pyramids of Giza, but also as the pharaoh who was poisoned to death only a month afterwards. As the pharaoh who was struck down by his own High Priest because of his treachery to the gods through his affections towards a lowly commoner male whom he wasn’t even using for sex.

After that, neither Gen nor Senku had any reason to believe in deities, because above anything, the only force in the universe that they could trust completely was themselves.

* * *

**Year: 49 BCE. Ancient Rome**

Gaius Julius Marius, more commonly known simply as “Gaius”, was just about sick of the shitty Roman markets. At this point, he was about ready to up and leave for a job that required less bratering and shouting.

He sighed and put down his wine cup. He did love his interactions and his work, really, he did. It was all too easy to learn about someone’s lifestyle when they were trying to buy jewels and for their loved ones, and just how much they were willing to pay for it. It was both Gaius’ favourite and least favourite part of his day, and only _most_ times he would walk away with a nice, heavy, sack of coins.

But that being said… Gaius wouldn’t mind a job that was a little less unpredictable. He could either be at the forum for minutes or hours, depending on the day and the business.

He should look into an apprenticeship, maybe. He was only 16, still young, and it wouldn’t hurt to change career paths now. He _definitely_ wasn’t going onto the fields, whether it be for war or wheat. He didn’t really like any of that _rancidulus_ stuff that goes with becoming a doctor, but they paid well enough, especially since the patients didn’t even need to be kept alive to get the reward for making the effort to treat them. It had always seemed awfully immoral, more so even than the lying involved in bartering all day for cleverly-painted pieces of metal.

He could always become a philosopher, Gaius supposes. It didn’t seem like a very noble job, what with it just being old men sitting in their rooms and looking out the window all day, but Gaius thinks that it would be a perfect match for him… once he retires. Nobody listens to the Roman youth nowadays, which is a crying shame.

And besides, he’d need a ridiculous amount of funds to become a philosopher, what with all the not-working that they’re doing in their homes until they become famous out of some stroke of luck. And to get the finds, Gaius would have to enlist in the military, or something equally horrible. 

Gaius sighed again, as he began his walk back to his sea, where his small villa was. It was nothing extravagant, but he supposes that his father had left him enough money from his fishing career, enough that Gaius could promise to pay off his father’s debts someday soon enough that the creditors wouldn’t hunt him down.

His mother had died during labour, though Gaius imagined that she must have been a lovely and kind lady based on the portraits of her that line the wall. Unfortunately, even with said portraits to accompany him, Gaius felt awfully lonely. His father was now somewhere the other side of the Mediterranean Sea, looking for better fish, and looking for a way out of his debts without faking his death. Gaius had refused to go, and he doesn’t regret the decision. That doesn’t mean he always has to like it though.

The slaves were freed as soon as Gaius could sign the contracts. He hated having people wait on him, because they were always just a tad too close to his person. For some inexplicable reason, the idea of having them made him paranoid and uneasy. 

So he sent them away, and now there were probably a bunch of freedmen parading around town with with not a single _uncia_ to be earned from them. He admittedly made the decision a little too rashly, Gaius would reflect from time to time. His family used to be in possession of nearly a dozen slaves, which Gaius suspects was why they were so deeply in debt, and another reason added to many why he refers to himself by his given name rather than either of his family ones. Regardless, slave trading, albeit a rather shady profession, was one that could definitely put food on the table. At the very least, Gaius would like some better wine.

Gaius once hoped to be a politician, he was good with people, after all, but with his parents out of the picture it just wasn’t going to happen.

He sits in the empty courtyard, overgrown with weeds after years of poor management, and wonders how much he could do if he moved to another country.

He had always liked the idea of going to that growing city in Egypt — Alexandria, if he remembered right. He could find some Rome-exclusive pieces of art or jewels, and he’d bring them over to a place where they’d sell better. And then he could bring Egypt-exclusive pieces back to Rome, repeat, and he was all set.

Besides, the open water was very freeing, and Gaius would love to live there for a week, go back on solid land, and then make more money. _What a life, honestly_. Much better than pointlessly fighting to become a politician.

So it was decided. Maybe he could rent out his villa while he was gone, and collect whenever he was running low on money. He was going to set out first thing tomorrow, and he finally have alcohol worth drinking and meals that actually had flavour to them. 

The next day arrived and passed, as did the next seven along with it. 

The sea was very peaceful, which, Gaius reckons, is better than the alternative. He was getting a little tired of slightly-mouldy bread though, and he was just as excited as everyone else on the trading ship when the border of land came up on the horizon. 

As he descended on the port, Gaius felt, well, not _free_ exactly, but at least less suffocated. He would probably feel better when he wouldn’t have to smell the salty sea air anymore though, and quickly made his way to the market to look for a respectable-enough family to rent a room from.

_Oh, how nice it is to have a break from all those Romans,_ Gaius thought to himself. He was all for Rome of course, and its glory, et cetera et cetera, but he did find the rule to become a little more rigid and militaristic since Caesar took the position as ruler. 

He quickly spotted a nice-looking couple that had a few children (Gaius always knew what kind of people the parents were based on their children, it became pretty obvious after years of working in the forum) and found that they did indeed have extra space that they’re willing to rent out for a week or so.

Gaius supposes he could jump from villa to villa if the need arose, but he also thought that the famous library, with all of its acclaimed grandness, must have empty space that Gaius could use for sleeping if necessary.

He wasn’t concerned, and he had no reason to be. If all goes according to plan, he’d soon have enough money to pay for his own real estate too. 

And so it did. Gaius had brought many more rings and necklaces from Rome than he necessarily needed, and he found that the Egyptian forums were just a smidge less noisy. That was a comfort, at the very least. He had quickly sold for a wonderful sum, and paid off his week of living with the kind family in advance. Gaius refused to be like his father, and would never leave his debts unpaid.

He counted his coins, was very glad that the countries shared so much common currency, and counted the spare to be exactly a tenth of what he needed to buy a home. In just one day, no less!

He decided to call it there, after making a few commissions from the local blacksmiths. He found that the stuff that they made here were more-or-less the exact same as the stuff back in Rome, but he figures that he could always lie to promote his goods. Most likely, nobody would be able to tell the difference.

He was in a good mood as he decided to do some sightseeing. There was, of course, the lighthouse, though Gaius thinks that he’ll wait another day or so before going back to the sea and its newly-familiar salty air.

He could go to the library though. He was no scholar, but he didn’t need to be one to recognize the historical glory that is the Library of Alexandria.

A collection of so much knowledge, Gaius just _had_ to see.

As he entered, the sun was just reaching a bit past midday. He’d arrived in the port at dawn, so that meant he finished his workday pretty early. That gave him ample time to explore and then buy a gift for his benefactors at his new temporary home.

But then, and Gaius doesn’t favour himself the poetic type, really. But _then_ , he sees someone so familiar he could have _sworn_ they’ve somehow met before. But if they did, it would have had to have been in a different life, because he would have _definitely_ remembered those red eyes.

His hair was a straw-kind of colour, and Gaius, for some odd reason, thinks that it looks a bit too dark. And a bit too short. _Longer hair would suit him. It would probably look messier if it got any longer than that, though._ Gaius thought.

But then he mentally shook his head. He didn’t even know this man, who was surrounded by scrolls and quills and ink. Gaius sure hoped those smudges on his face were ink, at least, because otherwise they would be some _formidulosus_ eyebags. 

He approached the stranger, and wondered briefly if he could interrupt the other’s work without retaliation. But he had a gut feeling that this person wasn’t violent by nature. He didn’t know how he analyzed that, but he knew.

“Hello there, young man.” Gaius greets. “Are you by chance a scholar here?”

“I am, yes,” the person didn’t notice Gaius approach, or at least didn’t have an obvious reaction to it. “Seneca. Nice to meet you.”

“Oh?” Those with one name were typically slaves. Gaius wasn’t aware that slaves could become scholars now. “I’m Gaius Julius Marius, but just call me Gaius, please.”

“Nice to meet you,” Seneca looks up for the first time during this interaction. Gaius would have normally found a lack of eye contact rude, but he could tell that Seneca really didn’t mean it to come across as such. He simply needed to finish writing the paragraph that he was on.

“Well then, if I may be so bold—” Gaius was interrupted as Seneca gasped.

“Your hair…” He began.

“Oh yes, having streaks of white is growing to be quite a trend back in Rome, you see.” He gestures to it, though his own streak was natural. “It makes us seem more mature, you know.”

“…Shouldn’t it be black?” Seneca continues, speaking as though he was searching for a memory long lost. “No, no. This is the correct colour.” He suddenly snapped back to attention. “Ah, my apologies, Gaius. I haven’t gotten much sleep after studying the stars last night. Not that it’s an excuse or anything, but I didn’t mean to come across as rude.”

“No, it’s fine, really.” Gaius didn’t know what to say. _’The correct colour’? What did that even mean?_ He thought, but he wasn’t going to question Seneca further. “So… What are you studying?”

“Transportation, mostly,” He shields his scrolls away from Gaius, likely out of reflex built from working a profession that depends so heavily on a steady defense against plagiarism. “I think there must be a better way to transport water than our silly old aqueducts.”

“Well,” Gaius thinks back to all those times he’s had to go to the wells to fetch water for baths since the ducts didn’t connect to his villa, and those days when it would take him a whole morning to do so. “Yeah, for sure. I can sympathize, since I also carry the water every day.”

Seneca looks at him suspiciously, “How did you know I carried the water?”

“Well, I mean, sorry. I didn’t mean to presume,” Gaius looks around. He didn’t see Seneca’s master anywhere. “But, since you’re a slave and all, I don’t think it was too unrealistic of a guess.”

Seneca frowns, “I’m not a slave.”

“Oh! My apologies,” Gaius said frantically. He was right after all, slaves didn’t have the time to become scholars. “You only mentioned one name, so I thought…” he trails off. Seneca had begun laughing.

“Ah, it’s nothing like that,” Seneca explained, still smiling. “I just think that our naming system is very outdated, wouldn’t you say? There’s just too few names yet too many at the same time. So I just go by what used to be my last name.”

“But there’s a lot of ‘Seneca’s running around, aren’t there?” Gaius asked. “How much good has this done you?”

Seneca shrugged. “None at all, really. It’s more of a placeholder until they finally change the naming system. Not sure when it’s going to happen, but I’m going to be ready when it does.”

Gaius laughed then. “Well, for a scholar, you’re not quite as pompous as I expected.”

“That’s good. And for a trader, you’re not quite as shady as I thought,” Seneca responded. 

“How did—oh. My pouch?” Gaius had his pouch strapped to his waist at all times, because nobody could _really_ be trusted with something that contained things with such a large price, so Gaius likes to keep his very small fortune close. 

Seneca nods. “Yes, your pouch.” He hesitates for a second. “Here, sit down. You’re clearly not in a rush if you stopped by to talk to the first scholar you saw.”

“Well, you’re not the _first_ scholar I saw, just the most interesting.” Gaius leans in. So the mark on Seneca’s face was just ink after all, though his eye bags were very substantial nevertheless. “Have your eyes always been like that?”

Seneca shrugs, “yeah. I hope you’re not religious or anything, because I don’t care fore any of it. I’m not ‘cursed’ or anything, I think it’s just an irregularity in my iris.”

“Probably,” Gaius takes the chair, and tried to gently nudge enough papers away so that he could rest his arms on the table without disturbing Seneca’s work. “And no, I don’t really believe in the gods. Not to be blasphemous or anything, but when you’ve seen enough people in your profession, you start to realize that the gods aren’t all that different. If the tales are true, that is.” He looks over at Seneca, who’s nodding thoughtfully. “And what about you? Based on what I can tell, you probably see more papyrus than you do people.”

“You’re not wrong,” Seneca smiles. “I just don’t think it’s very scientific. But then again,” he looks around, checking to see if people were listening. Nobody was, but he lowers his voice anyways. “The other research that I’m doing right now isn’t very scientific either.”

“What is it?” Gaius wasn’t sure why this stranger had trusted him so quickly, but it was probably for the same reason Gaius had so easily believed that Seneca was harmless.

Seneca looks at him again, with a puzzled expression on his face, as though he couldn’t even believe he was saying this in the first place. “Well, I think there might be a chance that reincarnation exists.”

Gaius would have laughed if Seneca hadn’t looked so serious. He molds his facial expression into one of disbelief instead. “What makes you think that?” He asked.

“My arm,” Seneca holds it up. Gaius doesn’t see anything wrong with it. He gestures at Seneca to continue. “I can’t feel my last two fingers,” he explains, and he demonstrates that when he makes a fist his ring finger and pinky don’t move. “The doctors have always said it was just a permanently-pinched nerve, but since I was a child I’ve always remembered it as an injury from a fire.”

“And it never occurred to you that it might just be a… I don’t know, a dream or something?” Gaius’ tone wasn’t disrespectful, but rather curious. “That happens sometimes, you know.”

“No. I remember it clear as day. If I were to put a limb back into flames, I’m sure that the pain of it would be familiar.” Seneca explains. “So I’m thinking that maybe this is an injury from a past life.”

“Well.” Gaius certainly had met his share of lunatics in the forums, but he’s never see one approach their delusions from a logical angle before. To say he was intrigued would be an understatement. “Do you have anything else on it? Other than your arm, that is.”

“Well, I think it’s something embedded deep into our memories. The first time I scraped my right arm, as a child, I remembered the feeling of a much stronger pain. I’d imagine that if my arm from the forearm down was completely numb, I would have never remembered that.” Seneca starts.

“Right, like childhood memories.” Gaius agrees. “Only more distant, of course.”

“Like you just now. Maybe it wasn’t as strong of a memory as me burning my arm off, but maybe the specific red of my eyes reminded you of something in the past.” Seneca continues.

“You mean, like if I knew someone? Or had an important jewel that colour or something?” Gaius couldn’t believe he was being pulled into this. But he figured there was no harm in learning what a scholar thought on such an un-scholarly matter. “I guess I did feel like you weren’t dangerous. That wasn’t really based on anything.”

“Right?” Seneca’s expression brightened. “And I thought you looked stupidly familiar, though I’ve never met anyone with a white streak in their hair.”

“Huh. Well, I don’t know how reliable my emotions from however-many years ago are, but I do think that you could be onto something.” Gaius said. “I don’t think I’ve seen enough proof to believe it for myself yet, but maybe you could convince me when I come back tomorrow?” He tone suggests that he’s asking if Seneca would be there.

“Sure, I’ve practically bought this corner at this point. Nobody else sits here.” Seneca says. “Are you in a rush? Got some swindling to get back to?”

Gaius laughs, “You say it like it’s a bad thing. Say, speaking of, would you be interested in any authentic Roman rings—” He gets cut off by laughter, both his own and Seneca’s. “No, I just want to stop by the market to get something for my benefactors, since they’re letting me rent a room.”

“You’ve mentioned Rome a few times now,” Seneca says in response. “And you’re renting a room?”

“Yeah, I’m going back and forth, of sorts. This is my first time in Egypt though.” Gaius explains. “But of course, I have my citizenship in Rome.”

“That’s interesting.” Seneca nodded. “Well then, I’d recommend some of our local fruits. If they’re in the market, then they have to be top quality.”

“Right, thanks for the advice,” Gaius smiled, and stood up. “It was nice meeting you, dear Seneca. I’d like to hear more about your research some other day.”

“I’ll bring all of my notes then,” Seneca smiles back. “And then you’ll be all caught up.”

Gaius leaves the library with a smile, and goes to the market and buys the local fruits as Seneca had suggested. True to his word, they were rich and unbruised — a perfect gift.

They kept meeting after that. Seneca would explain his theory of souls, and the origins of stories, and the deep woven connections of the world, and the like. Gaius would listen to it all with an interested glint in his eye and a soft smile on his face.

A month after Gaius first arrived in Egypt, he found that the time had practically flown by and he had to return home much too early. So he invited Seneca to go with him.

He agreed, and then proceeded to get seasick the next day on the boat. Gaius had stayed by Seneca’s lazy groaning and occasional vomiting on the (thankfully) shorter trip back to Rome. 

“Now that we’re somewhere I’m a bit more familiar with, _I’ll_ take care of the tourism. Let’s go see a play!” Gaius suggested one day. Seneca had only brought one empty journal with him, in case a breakthrough struck.

“I’ve never been to a play before,” Seneca mused. “It’s funny though. I would have thought you’re more into those colosseum fights.”

Gaius grimaced. “They’re only fun if nobody gets killed. And you can never tell if that’ll happen or not. So I mostly try to avoid them.”

“Right then, a play it is.” Seneca agreed.

They had to wait another two weeks before the next play happened, but it was sponsored by a big name politician, so it was practically guaranteed to be entertaining.

They had decent seats around the middle of the rows, and they relaxed as they watched it happen before them.

“Maybe in a past life, I was someone like that,” Gaius joked, tilting his chin towards the stage.

Seneca let out a small snort from amusement, “You may be a salesman, but I don’t know if your acting skills live up to theirs.”

“Maybe in a future life then,” Gaius responded, with a small smile on his lips.

Seneca said nothing in response, but he had a fond look in his eye that had Gaius feeling that the day somehow got much warmer than it was before, even with the overhead woven covering to protect spectators from the sun.

The play was good, as always, and Seneca would scribble a few ideas down whenever he was struck with a particular hypothesis inspired by the gimmicks happening onstage. Out of the corner of Gaius’ eye, he’d occasionally see Seneca either scribbling in or scribbling out something or other, and he ended up missing a few bits of the performance because he got distracted with the way his friend liked to nibble on the end of his pencil.

As they exit the amphitheater, Seneca subtly holds onto the sleeve of Gaius’ tunic so that they wouldn’t lose each other in the crowd. Gaius doesn’t question it, and instead takes the opportunity to lean closer to him.

“So, care to show me what you’ve written down during the play?” Gaius asks after they’ve returned to his villa. The family renting it was out shopping, but Gaius only needed the one room with the two beds anyways. Seneca spreads out his papers.

“You know how there’s pretty much no creativity in Rome anymore?” Seneca asks. “I think it might be because we’re all mostly old souls. We base our knowledge on the past, and it’ll take a new soul to create something that we’ve never seen before.”

Gaius hums in thought, “How would you be able to tell who’s a new soul and who’s not, though?”

Seneca shrugged, “I want to do more research when travel is more accessible. Do our souls stay near where we died? Do we just pop out somewhere and sometime at random? I can’t know that until I’ve seen more of the world.”

“You mean like, _outside_ the Mediterranean?” Gaius had heard some people speculate about it before, but none of their ships had ever come back from so far away. It was unheard of to embark on such a dangerous mission and lose all of those precious supplies and ships when wars were so commonly fought as navy nowadays.

“No, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to cross that body of water in my lifetime. Besides, since the Earth is round, and I’d probably just end up back here anyways.” Seneca responded. “But maybe in the next life, I’ll see if there’s more I can do to make my research more comprehensive. Right now, it’s mostly theory.”

“Right,” Gaius nodded. He wouldn’t say it out loud, because he hates to be vulnerable, but he would be really sad if Seneca ever left. And Gaius certainly wasn’t about to embark on a journey across the world that practically guaranteed death. “Well anyways, what would happen if you were right about the location thing, and anybody who dies in the ocean just reincarnate into kelp or something for the rest of eternity?”

Seneca grimaced, “Ugh, I sure hope not. I’m going to go and say that I’m pretty sure consciousness is limited to human feelings and emotions, because otherwise I’ll never look at a dish the same way ever again.”

Gaius laughed, “Yeah, I would hope that things like… I don’t know, grass, don’t have the consciousness required to remember anything from their past lives as a human.”

“And if they did, I’m sure that we’d get a lot more violent trees or farm animals, right?” Seneca reasoned.

“Yeah,” And they smiled to each other, and they ate their dinners with the soft candlelight illuminating Seneca’s research papers.

They went back to Alexandria a few days later, and Gaius found himself spending time with Seneca whenever he wasn’t making sales at the market. Seneca didn’t mind though, and Gaius would even assume that he enjoyed Gaius’ company during the day.

It continued like so, with them boating back and forth between Egypt and Rome, going to the noisy and fun festivals together or just savouring those moments of silence in the library. It was a good arrangement, and Seneca’s research journals on the possibility of reincarnation had doubled during that time.

There was exactly one occurrence when they agreed to go to the colosseum, because they had heard rumours of a new slave that had recently gained traction and popularity in the ring. She had defeated countless beasts with only the use of a basic spear and her uncanny speed, and she was to be pitted against another famed gladiator in a very anticipated battle. Gaius and Seneca, while not very fond of bloodshed, went to go see them fight. The girl, with her bright blonde hair and clear blue eyes, had looked as ferocious as any lion, but her opponent looked like someone straight out of a legend, with his strength and ferocity, and not to mention the long hair and steeled gaze that helped the image. Gaius and Seneca could easily see how he was their most famed gladiator, and after the bloodshed that inevitably ensued, decided that they would never go back to see another ‘show’, no matter what the posters advertised.

Instead, they favoured times where they could simply rest after a long day of work. It was one such day, when they were relaxing in the Library of Alexandria while the sun sets, and Seneca’s lack of sleep finally caught up to him, resulting in him leaning on Gaius’ shoulder. Gaius finds days like these to be among his favourites, because he found out very early on that Seneca was a deep sleeper, and soon found no qualms about running his hands through the others’ hair, which was slowly growing out a bit more. And in the sunset, his skin looks redder, and his hair paler. 

Gaius would usually fall asleep on these days, head resting on Seneca’s after he finishes tidying up the scrolls that cover the table and arranging them neatly into a bag. Today was no exception.

What was different that day though, was that a certain Roman general named Caesar just happened to be pursuing another man named Pompey, and they ended up at the Alexandrian shore. As they were chasing each other in boat fleets, Caesar had ordered the ships to be set aflame.

The fire travelled quickly, reaching the city before they knew it. But Pompey was assassinated, and Caesar left. But as the fire spread, it quickly found a home among the many dry and light scrolls in the nearby library. 

Gaius had woken up too late, coughing and hacking, trying to get the smoke out of his lungs. He leaned over to wake up Seneca, yet found that the other man had already stopped breathing, though his tunic covered Gaius’ nose and mouth, which is likely why Gaius was still alive even though he’s such a heavy sleeper. They were on the ground, probably because Seneca tried to drag them both outside despite the fact the fact that he was weak even for a scholar.

He would have time to mourn later. He knew now that the only thing he could do for himself and for Seneca was to escape the burning building, the leather bag with all of Seneca’s research slung across his shoulders. 

He didn’t get very far, with the smoke making his eyes itchy, and although Gaius tried to keep low, where the smoke was the thinnest, he still couldn’t move as fast as he would have liked. The tears threatening to spill from his eyes helped clear whatever grit got into them, the not-quite-acknowledged grief over his dearest friend only registering after Gaius’ survival instinct.

He crawled, feeling dizzy from the heat and the lack of oxygen, and made his way to the door, where he then found the adrenaline to run to the closest open well that he could find, gulping down the clean water, and feeling it rinse the smoke out of his mouth. He was there for what felt like hours, though it was likely just a matter of a few minutes. Nobody else noticed though, as they were too busy trying to put out the fire that was ravaging the library. 

Gaius allowed himself to fully cry then, gross globs of tears and snot and he was straight up _sobbing_ , rehydrated but still coughing. He lost his best friend, and somehow, this grief wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to him. The lingering taste of smoke and ashes in his mouth turned into something more rancid, like vomit, or an echo of poison from a time long, long ago. 

He went through his life fairly uneventfully after that day, and it was for that reason that Gaius found himself protecting Seneca’s research more and more. He got over his initial period of grief within a half-year, but that doesn’t stop the loneliness from setting in at the late hours of the night. He knew that he would never find someone quite as eccentric as his friend, and he would never try to replace him. He made a decent living for himself afterwards, though he died of old age — alone — years later. The scrolls were given to another library after his death, and they were never credited with the author. 

After that, Senku’s lungs had never quite worked right, and Gen had begun to sleep a lot more lightly.

* * *

**Year: 1928. Cambridge, England**

Samuel McKee was the closest thing to a mad scientist at the time.

As he was growing up, people had all spread many nasty rumours about his red eyes, or his pale hair, or his apparently-strange aversion to conversing with people.

Eventually, they found out, that it was just he thought himself too smart for them. He was an absolute arrogant arse, and nobody from his village could stand him. He had asthma and his hair was a mess and he only had one person his age — his brother — who would spend time with him. And he thought himself too good to spend time with anyone else. 

Nobody living on the hill that housed so many people liked Samuel, from the common folk at the bottom to the rich old-money near the top (and yes, the symbolism of it all became rather funny overtime). But he was rich, or at least, his family was, and he had ordered for tutors since he was merely 1 year old. As a result, he was not only a pompous arse, but a mightier-than-thou type of lad as well, because he had the money and the marks to back it up all through school.

Samuel, however, has never cared even a single millimeter for what the others of his community have decided to call him. In fact, he reveled in it, allowing his hair to grow out into its naturally-messy and mildly frizzy state, pointedly wheezing after his brother forces him to run any longer than three minutes, and ordering the most eccentric lab coat that he could get tailored. 

He rarely exercises by running or playing ball, but he also never bothered eating regular meals, resulting in a slightly skeletal figure that his brother Thatcher would always try to remedy.

Despite common sense and logic, Samuel had never felt a close connection with his brother. Thatcher had always seemed too _young_ despite actually being older, and his brown, spiky hair just a bit too unfamiliar in a way that Samuel could never quite place. His smile, Samuel reckons, is what does it. He’s never seen a smile like that before, and there’s a thought there, a thought that just seems a hair’s breadth away from being grasped, but Samuel always found himself unable to connect the last two dots that would made the whole image come into focus.

That didn’t mean they didn’t get along — the opposite was true, in fact. Thatcher would always help Samuel with his experiments, however dangerous or ill-advised by their parents. But they did them nevertheless, as Samuel can’t be convinced otherwise, and Thatcher had that tendency to follow Samuel and his ideas that only grew as time went on. 

They were doing such an experiment one day, when Samuel was seven and Thatcher was eight, using the textbooks that Samuel got from his tutor as reference to build their own incandescent lightbulb. That was when a family moved into the house right beside theirs, and Thatcher was just too kind of a person to not greet the newcomers.

“Hullo! Will you be staying for long?” Thatcher asked the family as they exit their car. They were lugging crates, even though anyone with enough money to buy a house on the same street as the McKee family should have enough money for a butler or two. “If you want, I could help you bring in those heavy-looking crates of yours, good sir and madam!”

“Oh, what a charming little fellow you are,” The woman said. “Don’t you worry, I’m sure all these boxes will be too heavy for you.”

“We’re journalists, you see,” the man said. “So they’re all of our previously-printed newspapers.”

Thatcher looked excited as Samuel finally caught up, looking bored. Thatcher switched his attention back to the new family. “Have you been working long then? It seems like there’s a lot of boxes here!”

The woman laughed, “We don’t look that old, do we?”

“Oh, no madam! You look very youthful!” Thatcher, since he was born into a very polite family, was taught a lot of manners, though they couldn’t always keep up with his abundance of energy. “I’m Thatcher McKee, it’s very nice to meet you!” He held out his hand, which the woman took for a handshake.

“And you should call me Lily, Lily Carlton.” The woman said. She glanced at Samuel, “You two, young man. I’m sure you’re not as excited to greet these strangers as your friend here, but you’re free to call me whatever you like.”

“Alright, Mrs. Carlton.” Samuel nodded politely, then looked back at Thatcher, “Right then, time’s ticking. We haven’t got all day to get through the basics of circuitry.”

“Oh? Aren’t you a little young to be going to school?” Lily asked. “I have a son of my own, and he looks to be around your age.”

“Personal studying, ma’am.” Samuel said, his tone tip-toeing the line between disinterest and rudeness. “Though, I suppose your son is free to come watch.”

“Graham!” Lily called, light but had an edge of the authority that every parent at the time used with their children. “I know you’re not really asleep back there. There are some children around your age who’ll become our new neighbours.”

“Sorry mum,” A small boy sat up in the backseat of the four-wheeler. “You know long trips tire me out. I was just a bit groggy.”

“Well that’s fine.” She flapped her hand in an encouragement to get him to come over. “Your father is probably looking over the house right now, but you can make friends with these kids while you wait for him to give the all clear.”

The boy straightened his overalls, and freezed when he looked at them. “Your eyes!” Graham, the McKees figured, had probably been raised with very good manners. However, it wasn’t rare for people to look at Samuel’s red eyes and think something amiss. Graham immediately collected himself and begun an apology when Samuel raised a palm to interrupt.

“Don’t worry about it, the doctors have already gotten a good look at it, and it’s not contagious, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Samuel sounded like he was reciting off a note, which he was. There had been altogether much too many conversations with people about this whole ordeal, and Samuel couldn’t be bothered with that when he had an incandescent lightbulb to get back to. “I hear it often, there’s no need to worry. I understand it’s a shock.”

“No no!” Graham walked over. “I would never say anything about that, because I’m the same way!” He pulls off his hat to reveal that half of his hair is completely white. “Were you born with your eyes?”

Samuel looked at Graham with a thoughtful look. He was almost certain that he’d seen something similar, though he couldn’t be sure. The thought, as Samuel was only seven years old at the time and not quite devoted to committing everything to memory just yet, had quickly been forgotten. “Yes, I suppose I must have been. And your hair? It’s not chemically treated to be that way?”

“No, it’s all very natural, I assure you.” Graham smiled. “Say, would I happen to know you from somewhere? You seem awfully familiar.”

“No, I’ve never left my town.” Samuel smiled though, and gestured to his house. “You should come help us with our incandescent lightbulb. You seem like the type with precise hands.”

“Then,” Graham looked at his mum. “May I?”

“Well sure.” Lily answered. “Say, speaking of, where was that lively spiky-haired friend of yours?”

“Thatcher?” Samuel looked around. “Probably went and found another wounded bird again. He likes to run off a lot. Don’t worry, Mrs. Carlton, we’ll find him.”

“‘We’?” Graham smiled. “I think I saw him heading in that direction,” he gestured to the other houses on the lower section of their hill. 

“Don’t get lost now, Graham,” Lily gently said. 

“I wouldn’t allow it, ma’am!” Samuel said. “I’ve grown up here, and I know the roads well enough.” He didn’t mention that it was really _Thatcher_ who was in charge of navigating, but he had full confidence that they could find him.

“So, are you planning on being an inventor then?” Graham asked once they got walking. “With all the lightbulbs and all, you know.”

“No, I’d rather be a scientist,” Samuel answered. “There’s a key difference, you see, because I have no creativity.”

“Oh?” Anyone could tell even seconds after meeting Samuel that he was incredibly arrogant, likely a result from growing up spoiled, and Graham was no exception. If anything, he noticed even earlier that most would, simply from Samuel’s stance and the certain set of his eyebrows.

“Well, I’m a genius, that’s to be sure.” Samuel waved it off as though it was no big deal. Graham thought faintly that Samuel wasn’t always this arrogant, and then dismissed the thought because _they had only known each other for a minute at best, really._ He shook his head, and Samuel continued, “I just think that I would rather do the knowing and discovering instead of the inventing, you know?”

“Not really,” Graham said after a moment of contemplation. “I want to be a journalist like mother and father. I suppose the fields are too different.”

They continued talking on their way down the winding road that made up their hill neighbourhood when they spotted Thatcher. 

“Did you chase a bird all this way?” Samuel asked. 

“No, it was a wounded puppy,” Thatcher looked up, his eyes welling with emotion. “Poor lad ran away when I approached it, but I reckon it’s warmed up to me now.”

“Well? You know father’s allergic,” Senku looked at the dog. “But then again, it might be for cats. I still think it was just an excuse to ensure you don’t bring in every stray you find.”

“I think he looks rather charming,” Graham leaned down and took a closer look at the dog. “He looks healthy other than the scratch on his arm, and he doesn’t have a collar.” He looked up at Samuel and Thatcher. “Tell you what, if you can’t convince your parents to keep him, I’ll try to convince mine.”

Thatcher nearly burst into tears. “Oh, I knew you were a good person! You said your name was Graham, right?”

Graham laughed, “I can’t believe you both know my name but I don’t know yours,” Graham looked at them expectantly.

“Samuel McKee,” He said. He put out his hand for a shake, and Graham took it. “Sorry for not introducing myself earlier.”

“No it’s fine! I suppose it just didn’t come up in conversation, hmm?” Graham looked at Thatcher next. “And your name?”

“Thatcher McKee! Happy to meet you!” Thatcher, ever the energetic ball of sunshine, hugged Graham straight on. Graham didn’t quite know how to react to this, so he simply let himself be hugged.

“So you two are brothers then?” Graham asked. “Your personalities are totally different!”

“I take after our mom!” Taiju said. “And Samuel takes after the picture of Albert Einstein on his wall!”

Samuel arranged his lips in a pout, “I do not, I simply find his work admirable.”

“Albert Einstein?” Graham thought for a bit. “Ah, I think I recall seeing some articles of him that my parents did recently. Wasn’t he the fellow who had that theory of something?”

“Yes, the Theory of Relativity.” Samuel stated. “I don’t know what it means yet, but I will soon!”

“Right then,” Graham smiled, because while he never liked the arrogant-types of people, he had always found himself inexplicably drawn to the eccentric ones. “I look forward to it.”

Thatcher and Samuel smiled then, because they now had a third person to join their group, and he was nearby enough that he could go over for experiments whenever he wanted.

They walked back to their houses, with Thatcher leading the way as Samuel explained to Graham everything he’d learned so far from his advance reading textbooks.

They were able to keep the dog, mainly because Mr. McKee hadn’t wanted to lie about an allergy when he had just met their neighbours, and Thatcher had brought out the extra-pleading eyes, promising to take good care of the dog. They had him sent to the doctor’s before determining that he was perfectly healthy, if a bit malnourished, but that could be easily remedied. They also found out that the dog was a girl, and that under the layer of dirt on her fur was a sheen of beautiful golden hair.

The trio puzzled over the naming of the dog for a while, until Graham saw his mother’s jewels and found one particularity striking. They named the dog Amber.

She liked to pick fights with any cats and squirrels that threatened to enter the McKee and Carlton properties, but other than that she was very well-behaved.

Amber had gone wandering one day in the neighbourhood, and had gone quite a distance away before the trio had gotten worried. She would wander a lot, but she would always get back at a reasonable time, so they set out to look for her. 

They had found her in the arms of a kind-looking girl around their age with an odd helmet-like accessory, holding her gently and asking if anyone had been missing their dog.

“Oh, hullo miss!” Thatcher went over. “Sorry, Amber’s ours. She likes to wander, though I suppose she went too far this time.”

“Oh, that’s great that you found her then!” The girl smiled. “My name’s Yvette Hastings, and I hope she doesn’t get lost anymore.”

“I’m Thatcher McKee!” He hugged her, and she hugged back with equal enthusiasm. “So, uh,” Thatcher wasn’t used to people responding to his hugs with a similar amount of glee. “Do you, uh, would you happen to live here?”

“Yes! My family owns the church over there, so we live right by it.” She smiled at them. “And by McKee… Would that mean you live in one of those fancy houses at the top of the hill?”

“Yup! That’s us! Though I’d reckon it doesn’t look half as nice as your family’s church!” He smiled at her radiantly.

Samuel was observing the sky, wondering how it got its colour, while Graham was busy stifling his giggles at the sight of Yvette and Thatcher’s interactions. He knew that they weren’t probably only around 8 years old (and that was practically adulthood to a 7-year-old like him), but they could very well make a cute pair in the future. 

They invited Yvette over when she expressed interest in the project that they were currently working on, an investigation into the properties of which materials conduct electricity. They made plans for the coming tuesday, when the church would have no sermons to conduct, and Thatcher had practically buzzed with excitement the whole time until then.

After that, Yvette had also joined their group of young scientists, and they continued to invite her up to join them in their experiments. Graham had long realized that he wasn’t interested in the science at all, but mostly the red-eyed scientist in charge of it. He took pleasure in documenting their exploits though, and found more and more enthusiasm for journalism as he went along. He also occasionally wondered how he would do if he wrote a book on all their exploits.

Yvette and Thatcher hadn’t decided what they wanted to do yet, but that was alright too. Until then, they would stay by their friends and support the experiments in any way that they could.

Amber was a dog, and enjoyed it. That’s all there was, really, though she brought home more and more dead squirrels every day. Out of curiosity one day, they brought her to one of those dog competitions, and she outran practically every other contestant there.

As for Samuel, he learned quickly enough that he really couldn’t be a scientist without the help of others. He was still the resident unathletic mad scientist with the frizzy hair, but by his 12th birthday he was much friendlier towards the people he met. 

They continued their friendship into school, and continued it afterwards when they’ve gone into their respective career paths. 

15 years after their first meeting, the group had gone in vastly different directions. Samuel started working in a lab, like he always dreamed. Graham, at his parents’ news company. Amber had stayed with Thatcher in his pursuit into teaching, and Yvette was looking into photography and fashion.

There was nothing of note, at least, until Samuel did some digging and found an intriguing satchel’s worth of notes that lasted from Ancient Rome.

He had delved into them completely, seeing a possibility in the philosophy behind a subject as ridiculous as _reincarnation_ , but he wanted to know. He spent many sleepless nights pouring through the ancient research, typing out his own copy and making notes on them wherever he thought of a scientific gadget that could make it work. It never did.

“Hullo, Sammy!” Graham shouted one day as he entered Samuel’s lab. “Haven’t heard from you in a while now, how’ve you been?”

“Picked up a new project, Graham. Care to help?” Samuel pulled out a chair for him. It’s a familiar sight. “I’m stuck on this one part. You did some latin in school, right? D’you think you could translate this for me?”

“Aw Sammy,” Graham happily took the seat, setting his bag on the floor. “I’d love to!” He put on his reading glasses. “Er, ‘If the… is new… knowledge…’” He continued to mumble to himself, scribbling on a loose sheet of paper while Samuel got them both a cup of steaming coffee.

“How do you want it?” Samuel asked, though more out of courtesy than anything, in case his preferences had changed from two weeks ago.

“Three sugar, one cream, thanks.” Graham replied.

Samuel complied, being generous with the ‘one cream’, just how Graham liked it. “Do you need the rest of the notes for it to make sense?”

“No I’ve got it,” Graham turned to Samuel as he was bringing the coffee over. “The knowledge cannot be new unless the soul is as well’. But that’s a fairly loose translation, so if it doesn’t match with your findings do let me know.”

“Of course,” Samuel nodded, transcribing Graham’s translation. “Thanks for the help.”

“What’s this for anyways?” Graham asked. “Unless you’re busy, because then I can come another time.”

“Ah, no worries.” Samuel responded. “You’re free to stay as long as you’d like. I’m not quite sure this venture is really all that scientific anyways.”

Graham _hmm_ ed as a sign to let Samuel know to keep talking.

“Right then, as long as you don’t report anything until the device is done, I wouldn’t mind telling you what I have so far.” Samuel looked to Graham, and Graham nodded convincingly. “Well, some Ancient Roman lad thought of the concept of reincarnation as a possibility. There’s not all much to it, just a few simple rules in theory — and I _think_ I might have some labs that I could run to prove them — but I need a device that works in order to make my findings applicable to humans as well.”

“What?” Graham paused to think. “That’s interesting enough, I s’ppose. Don’t know how to magic up a reincarnation device for you though.” He leaned over. “So what are these rules?”

“You’re awfully insistent today, Graham,” Samuel said. “You promise you’re not reporting this until it’s done?”

“Ha! I could never. I want a story on this, sure, but I would like it to be complete before anyone else can see it,” Graham reassured him. “So, the rules then?”

Samuel sighed, though it was more out of resignation than sadness. He was never all that good at saying ‘no’ to Graham “Well, you’ve translated the most complicated sentence in there, so the rules are pretty much all there now.” He pointed to each one as they appeared, barely visible under his writing over them. “First rule is that things have to reincarnate into something that’s being born, which is, y’know, quite obvious, but I appreciate them for being thorough.”

“Right.” Graham said. 

“Second is that they have to be of a close distance. This means that it’s possible to reincarnate into a plant or an animal, but also that it’s possible that the final location of the soul gradually moves from one location to the other. Like fish, maybe, across the ocean.”

“How d’you think they figured that?” Graham asked. 

Samuel shrugged in reply. “I’m just reading what I’m given. This is all theory, so it makes sense to speculate.”

“I s’ppose.”

“Third is that it’s possible to regain small connections to a past life. A particular favoured colour, or an injury to a lesser degree, or a familiar face, etc.” Samuel said. “I like that idea, of having something from the past that we can associate with now? Also sounds like the easiest to prove.”

“Ooh! I looked into psychology for a bit. Quite interesting really, and they mentioned how there were a few people predisposed to doing or liking certain things. This person must have thought that it was a reflection of their past life.” He treated this all quite seriously, which Samuel appreciated very much. “Yeah, like maybe that’s why you write with your left hand even though you’re right-handed.” 

Samuel nodded. “It just always felt more comfortable like that.” He paused a second to let the thought sink in. “Wait, how did you know I was right-handed?”

“You’re always picking things up with your right hand, always pointing with it, the like.” Graham shrugged. “I’ve seen you use cutlery, you know. I don’t think you realized, but you hold the fork and knife in the same way as we do even though you’ve never been taught to do so.”

“Huh, I guess I never bothered thinking about that.” Samuel said. “Well then, if this person is correct, then maybe I had an injury in a past life and couldn’t write with this one.” He held up his right hand. 

“Perhaps.” Graham smiled. “Or maybe you’re just one of those ambidextrous folk.”

“Maybe a mix of both then,” They both chucked. This idea was ridiculous, they knew, but it wouldn’t hurt to look into it more.

The next time Graham came by about a week later, it was to see Samuel kill a rat.

“Poor bloke, didn’t even stand a _chance_ at living with you around,” Graham joked as he entered the lab room. Samuel was holding a notepad. 

“Oh, he’s fine. See how he’s eating?” Samuel pointed at him, “He’s living the life, and his death will be quick and painless.”

“Maybe if I give him a name you’d reconsider murdering him,” Graham teased. “How about… Iber?”

“Where’d that come from?” Samuel asked. 

Graham shrugged, “I don’t know, sounded like a rat name.”

Samuel laughed, “Well, sorry, but he still needs to die.” He looked at the rat in the other cage. “Anyways, to catch you up. I’ve performed a series of Pavlov’s experiments on him.”

“Oh, I wrote about his theory in the news lately. I’m familiar.” Graham nodded. 

“Right, so whenever I ring the bell he’ll react, right?” Samuel proved it by ringing the bell on his lab bench, and saw Iber the rat standing up straight in response. “Perfect. So, since he’s such a small specimen, I figured this bell is reminder enough of this life. Not much storage in that brain anyways.”

“Oh, so that other rat over there, you’re going to kill Iber before she gives birth to see if her baby will react the same?” Graham guessed. 

“Exactly,” Samuel said. “I’ve been timing her contractions, and I’d say we kill him sometime in the next two minutes. I’ve cleared the area of any living beings, and we’re not recently born so I’d reckon it’s alright.”

“Is this your first test run?”

“Nope, it’s my fifth.” Samuel showed Graham his notes. “First time, I thought they might be reborn before the incubation period starts, so I got some insects because their eggs take much less time to hatch.”

“Right. That wasn’t your solution, then?” Graham asked. “I suppose there’s not much for a soul to do when they’re just in the dark for however-long.”

“Right, so I was wondering if they would occur at birth. It was harder to time the egg hatchings then I expected. I tried with some frogs too, but that didn’t really work either.” He explained. “So here we are, lucky number five, and with a mammal instead.”

“Right, well. I’d reckon it’s been around a minute. The mother rat looks like she’s in a lot of pain over there.” He points. “You don’t want to miss the baby coming out now.”

“Yeah,” Samuel checked his stopwatch, made a note on his sheet, and injected Iber with some kind of clear fluid. He fell dead nearly right away. “Now we just wait and see.”

They waited around half a minute more before the baby rat came out. Samuel made a few notes on his sheet, looking at the rat to examine its health. After he determined that it was healthy, He approached a tone dial.

“You’re not ringing the bell yet?” Graham asked.

“No, I need a control in case it’s just sensitive to sound.” Samuel played the tone dial and nothing happened. “Perfect.” He checks off a box on his sheet.

Graham waited expectantly as Samuel grabbed the bell. “How do you know it’ll work?”

“I don’t,” he rang it. The baby rat perked up, sniffing the air for food. They cheered as Samuel made a note on it. He huffed a small laugh. “I didn’t think it would really work.” He said in disbelief.

"Well, of course it wouldn't if you were carrying that _asty-nay_ attitude this whole time! Though even now I’d reckon that’s not enough information, right? Knowing you, you’d need a few more tests with different animals and different conditions.” Graham guessed, grinning from ear to ear to marvel at his best friend's experiment. 

“Of course,” Samuel said. “But the success of this one is a strong indicator that the next few should work.” He looked over at Graham with a smile that made his stomach twist into knots. “Thanks for being my good luck charm.” He joked. It was a running gag that Samuel had the worst luck among the group, and really, Graham shouldn’t be so flustered to hear Samuel talk about it, but _a good luck charm? Really?_ He didn’t know how to feel about that. It had a tone which made Graham's heart squeeze in a not-unpleasant way. He wasn't sure what he should do to recover, but maybe he could discreetly open a window? It seemed fairly hot in here and he found his cheeks flushing a bit. 

Graham recovered, hopefully fast enough that Samuel didn't notice, and laughed, “Well, anything for that story, right? Just give a ring anytime you want to run another experiment.” He suddenly remembered something and pulled out his own notebook. “Oh, I guess I should’ve recorded everything as we did it?” 

“That’s alright, your memory is second only to mine,” Samuel said. “I’m sure you could record enough information.”

“Well, thanks Sammy,” Graham smiled. “I was serious about that though, feel free to call whenever.” He didn’t know what it meant that he enjoyed Samuel’s company so much, nor why it always made his heart beat a little faster whenever Samuel complimented him. Come to think of it, his whole body seemed to go into overdrive (but in an oddly pleasant way?) when they were in close proximity as well, though he couldn’t figure out why. Had Samuel been a girl, he would have assumed he fancied him, but as he is very much male, Graham was a bit confused. _Perhaps these are simply signs of a very strong friendship,_ he thought.

“Right then, with a project like this, I’ll need all the luck I can get,” Samuel smiled at him as Graham made for the door. “Leaving already?”

“Appointment at quarter-after,” Graham said, glancing at his watch. “Can’t be late. Good seeing you though!”

As Samuel waved Graham out the door, he briefly realized that his face had started cooling down. _Must be the proximity to another human,_ Samuel reasoned, though more to momentarily appease his own confusion rather than solving any actual puzzle. _Graham had always been rather warm to the touch._

Samuel had found himself creating more experiments even if they had a low likelihood of succeeding, mainly because he found himself unable to keep from calling Graham over, and he wasn’t any good at coming up with any other excuse to see him. 

He enjoyed Graham’s presence. He wasn’t any help to the science at all, but he wasn’t detrimental to it either. If he had to say, he’d place him somewhere between a sounding board and a consultant the scale of usefulness. But he found that he enjoyed himself a lot more when Graham was around. He remembered to eat more and clean up occasionally. He would hear a different opinion that he never could've thought of on his own. And while Thatcher and Yvette were good friends, he might consider Graham his best. Samuel always thought that it wasn’t quite an apt enough descriptor for him, but couldn’t think of what other label could apply for his feelings towards Graham.

So the experiments continued at an increasing rate as they went along. Most didn’t work, but the few that did made it all worth it. By year’s end, Samuel had a full journal of evidence that Graham was allowed to start publishing. Obviously, they couldn’t test on humans, but they proved that reincarnation, at the very least, occurred in animals. 

He reasoned that bacteria was likely too small and too dumb to be reincarnated into, and it was likely the same case for plants. There could be a possibility of bacteria reincarnating into plants, then plants into insects, then insects into larger animals, which in turn could reincarnate either into animals again or humans.

He figured that humans and animals were alike enough to reincarnate into each other, though he didn’t think about it too much. They wouldn’t have their memories, so he didn’t like to think of any of the rodents he’s killed as actual people. 

Graham continued putting together the story, and published it as soon as Samuel got his copyright on the research. It was a hit, and Samuel had received an offer to go to another department of research in Japan whenever he started on that prototype of the device that allows people to maintain their memories across lives.

He had accepted it, of course, and his friends had volunteered to go with him. It took a lot longer to start working on the prototype, because he didn’t have any leads on what combination of minerals and whistles could create such a contraption.

Thatcher and Graham had worked tirelessly to get grants for research funds while Yvette helped Samuel with research and ideas. Amber couldn’t do much, since she was just a dog, but she offered moral support whenever she could.

They worked for two years before they had something as a first draft. They had no way to test it, and they didn’t know if their logic would hold against reality, but they made their way to Japan anyways.

A few others were there too. The interesting ones were a man with long, dark hair, a guy with a large hat who didn’t want anything to do with the war, and a very charming boat captain. Boat trips were hard to come by, so it was more efficient to make stops along the way, especially since the boat trip from England to Japan was an inconvenient one. So they would drop off the two escaping the war somewhere along the way that wasn’t involved in the fighting while the rest of them went to Japan. 

When they arrived, they received nearly an entire research center to themselves, because most scientists at that time were doing research for war, and didn’t have time to do anything that actually benefited humanity.

They kept researching and experimenting and trial-and-error-ing using the limited resources they were given. 

Yvette had the idea to make it something portable, like a ring or an earring, and Graham had thought of a way to attach it directly to someone’s soul.

Thatcher had carved them all matching jewels by hand, and Samuel had the oddest feeling appear in his chest as he watched Graham choose to put it into a ring. 

They continued researching, finding which metals were best to connect directly to the waves emitted by their brains, and experimented with different energy sources for it before realizing that they didn’t need power at all, since the brain naturally produces electricity in a large-enough quantity to work for their purposes. 

The only problem would be to create one again in the next life, so Samuel recommended tattoos. They would use the same logic as the jewels, but be permanently embedded into the skin even if they’re not visible in a new life. As they connected to the soul directly, there wasn’t an issue in appearances.

Samuel didn’t have a lot of luck, but they were fortunate enough to have just needled their personalized lines into their skin when the bombs started dropping.

Their science wasn’t perfect, but they would have enough memories of this life to find each other again in the next one.

* * *

**Year: 2004. Modern-Day Japan**

The first words out of Senku Ishigami’s mouth happened when he was one month old and finally capable of speech. The words were “Where’s Graham?” and his father, as he never paid attention to English class, brought him some brand-name crackers in an attempt to appease his son.

Senku Ishigami made some conclusions, writing down all of his memories as soon as he gained enough motor control to control his arm without shaking. 

His memories weren’t perfect. He figured it was something with the sodium iodide concentrations, or maybe they didn't crush their stones to be fine enough, or maybe it was something about the conductivity of the gold wires. But nonetheless, he had a loose grasp of names — not that they would help him anymore since they were probably named differently now — loose enough that his own attachment to the name “Samuel” was long forgotten after half a year of being called “Senku”. 

He remembered very few things. The important ones were intact, as he could see their blueprints clear as day (likely because that was what he was looking at before everything got consumed by heat and cinders). He remembered the crucial bits of every one of his friends — Graham’s bi-coloured hair, Thatcher’s enthusiastic grin, Yvette’s weird headpiece — and he hoped that they would remain unchanging. 

There were a lot of things that he started forgetting though, like his family or his dog or his life as a scientist before his invention. He was determined to refine the invention to make it perfect though, and was prepared to keep doing trials for as many lifetimes as it took.

Senku’s father became overwhelmed with work and had to send him off to one of his friends, Byakuya Ishigami. Senku didn’t mind much either way, since they were both pretty chill people who, while not really understanding the situation, allowed it to happen.

Nothing else of note happened then, other than Senku learning Japanese beyond the few touristy phrases he remembered from his past life.

That is, until Senku was a year and a half old, forcing himself to walk a little smoother because _he had places to be, dammit._ Right around then, whenever Byakuya would have the morning off, he’d offer to drive Senku around town to see if he could spot any of his friends. 

After 2 more years of searching, they eventually found them. They exchanged their new names, and they got to work.

After that, the neighbourhood would always wonder what that group of toddlers would do next, because they had taken out 2B pencils instead of bright red crayons, and they had begun to fill out journals’ worth of detailed notes, only slightly shaky from their still-unrefined motor control.

They didn’t have time for anything else. Senku kept studying science, Gen went away for a bit for his psychology studies, Yuzuriha joined a crafts club, and Taiju kept building his endless stamina, but any time outside of that was spent on the reincarnation device. They couldn’t test because they not only didn’t have time for that, but also because they didn’t have the finances for it either. 

So they kept testing, telling each other about their own experiences through the reincarnation process and what they can infer from putting all that information together. 

They all remember some small period of time that they were still conscious after their last death. Gen had snapped out of his shock long enough to search for about a day before his consciousness faded. Theoretically, if they could project their consciousness to another human about to be born, that would be their new form, though there was no way to be sure.

Based on the amount of time between their last reincarnation and this point, they figured that their memories don’t last from when they’re anything non-human, which was convenient. 

They made a few more adjustments to the formula, and re-tattooed where their marks used to be right before they died.

Senku had favoured putting his marks near the brain, though Yuzuriha figured it could be closer to the heart, but didn't want to risk putting it right over it. Gen just wanted a cool design, and Taiju’s hand slipped.

Senku thought he and his friends would die on June 3rd, 2019, only for him to wake up 3715 years and 241 days in the future.

His first instinct was to survive, then right afterwards, to find the statues of his friends. He had barely begun his adventure when he met up with a petrified Tsukasa Shishio, who was the only familiar face (although he only knew him from television) that he could find. He needed to experiment more, but he didn't want to get too far away from the cave of miracle water for risk of running into wild animals, and he's hopeful that Tsukasa could help become his shield. He dripped some nitric acid into the statue, but to no avail. Eventually though, out of some stroke of luck that was probably more Tsukasa's fortune than Senku's, the stone began to crack. 

They worked well enough together, though Senku sensed that his science wasn’t anything that Tsukasa could respect until he’s come into terms with balancing his own ideals with some other philosophies, or something like that (Gen was the one who studied psychology, not him).

Senku found it funny that his stone cracks went perfectly onto the shape of his tattoos, but at least it meant not having to explain them to Tsukasa.

He hadn’t even found anyone else’s statue when Tsukasa killed him.

* * *

**Year: 5738 AD. Ishigami Village**

Senku managed to project his consciousness far enough to find the village that he suspected existed. He knew that Tsukasa would betray him eventually, and didn’t want to be a monkey for the next however-many years. So he followed the human tracks back to their village, and found that there were almost always people getting pregnant there to increase the limited population.

He might have considered himself lucky if he wasn’t presently dead.

He chose the one that seemed to have the most status, and decided that this would be the new form he could take.

Senku’s memories of the birth were blurry, either because of the blood or because natural births just _had_ to be painful and he probably just suppressed the memory of the screaming.

Regardless, when he figured out how to speak, he introduced the village to science, and discovered that Tsukasa had already been by but left when he realized that they were harmless. He was living in some other corner of the forest, and would likely stay there in what’s probably the closest he can get to an isolated and lonely utopia for the rest of his life. Senku was free to command people to go back to the cave where he’d found the miracle water, and ordered all alcohol to be preserved for the sake of the revival formula and further experimentation in order to ensure that they'll be able to consistently revive others whenever they wanted. 

Three years later, when Senku was four years old, they figured it out. 

Unfortunately, they had to create an abundance of things before they could find and revive Senku’s friends, as well as an abundance of things to keep the village alive enough to keep working.

Senku had chosen the correct family to be born into, because his father was the Chief of the village and his younger sister was going to be the priestess, with another smaller sibling on the way. So anyways, he had power in the village, and after their initial fears of possession, etc., they had realized that Senku’s science did them much more good than harm. 

They started cooperating more freely then, when Senku was 7 years old and they finally had agriculture. 

Then he found out that his younger sister Ruri didn’t just have a simple cough or minor symptoms of asthma, but instead a mysterious illness.

They then spent another 9 years trying to gather and craft the ingredients for the sulfa drug. They didn’t know where to look for sulfuric acid, and they weren’t willing to sacrifice guards for that.

A young boy around Senku’s age had started coming by in hopes of learning more about science. He’d go off to collect rocks and minerals nearly every day, and soon Senku found a new soul tailing him called “Chrome”.

He learned of the 100 tales much sooner, and as the villagers grew, so did Senku’s workforce. 

He would like to focus on the revival formula. He was thinking something along the lines of nital etch, but he wouldn’t be able to test it until he had gotten the village to a point where they could survive comfortably. It would’ve also been a lot easier if he had someone strong enough to be able to do the heavy-lifting.

Senku found that person when his youngest sibling was born. She had golden hair and bright blue eyes, and was able to uproot a tree as soon as she was 2 years old. Her name was Kohaku.

He had laughed when he realized what it meant, and jokingly asked her if she was tempted to go kill any squirrels. She gave him a bruise on his leg that lasted for a month in response. But after that, she would take up the responsibility when nobody else would, because she realized that Ruri was getting worse by the day.

She kept working, and Senku kept inventing, and Ruri kept holding on. 

This went on until Senku was 16 and Ruri was cured. One year later, he’s completed the revival formula and got Kaseki to glue any loose pieces back to his friends.

After introducing all of his old friends to his new ones, they celebrated all night with cola, that year’s harvest, and only sorta-gross ramen.

The month after was spent finding a way to have Tsukasa join their side. He was older now, and he’s grown used to living in the wild by himself. However, after seeing what their side had against him, Tsukasa had no choice but to listen to their negotiations. He was powerful — even more than he was before because of all the fighting he’s done — and he would be a valuable asset to the village. 

He had agreed to join them under one condition. By that afternoon, Suika had a new friend.

The road afterwards was surprisingly smooth considering their mission. They found a catalyst so that they could make as much revival fluid as they wanted, and they discovered the mysterious force that caused the petrification. It was a while before they had time to themselves again, but in the downtime between the pressure of survival and healing, Senku found himself falling asleep in Gen’s arms more than once, and sharing a few looks that were anything but platonic.

They didn’t have time for that though, no matter how many times they kissed (casually, of course, no _really, Taiju, it isn’t like that_ ), they wouldn’t have the time to date until they’ve re-established civilization. 

And re-establish civilization they did. When Gen was 24 and Senku was 23 (well, give or take a few thousand years and a couple of lifetimes), they had witnessed the world finish its rebuilding effort, beside all of their friends alive and well. They had revived a few more familiar faces by that point, and they’ve had to do a few more building efforts than they thought they would need. And rebuilding the whole world wasn’t easy. They didn’t know how their governments would work, and how they could deal with all the finances involved in reconstructing pretty much literally every building ever, but they made do. 

There were more apartments to conserve space in cities, and it meant less time on construction altogether. There was an excess of fossil fuels, but the Kingdom of Science had already started up so many renewable energy generators that it was more convenient to base everything around that instead. They had optimized solar and hydropower around the new geography of the Earth, and they brought on some scientists from America to help with military defense from the natural dangers that were still rampant. 

But it all worked out, and when Gen asked out Senku after they’ve re-established their lives along with the world, nobody was surprised. 

Their first date was at a McDonald’s. It was trivial for everyone else, who barely seemed to remember the millenia that passed by, but for them it was their first taste of overly-salty fries and real cola in what felt like _forever_.

They were famous enough, sure, but nobody didn’t care too much since they were too focused on getting their own lives back. They got some friendly waves and requests for autographs on the street, but nothing more than that.

So they were free to enjoy their happy meals and their Big Macs.

Senku had told Gen about his new research into the possibility of regaining memories from their lives before they utilized the device, and Gen in turn told Senku about how he was thinking of writing a book on how they all saved the world, since nobody was really in need of magician shows or psychology quizzes at the moment.

They started living together as soon as they found a place. Taiju had built them all tents in one of the campsites, but Gen was a light sleeper and never really rested well.

Yuzuriha started going to church again after they set up a proper building, and Taiju would go with her whenever he was free, but Senku and Gen never tagged along.

Kohaku and Tsukasa, along with some other powerful people from the new-stone age, helped with the construction effort, which meant they didn’t need to build any actual machines, though that didn’t stop Chrome from creating the blueprints for them anyways.

Senku and Gen went on their second date at the park. They hadn’t seen a lot of plain fields of cut grass and arranged flowers, because nature had been wild as far back as they remember. It was a good opportunity to appreciate the things that they forgot to appreciate. Nature is gorgeous, of course, but they had set up a picnic in the middle of the park, surrounded by beautiful petals and trimmed trees, and they talked into the night, when they started stargazing.

The pollution hadn’t gotten too bad yet, but Senku had a feeling that he would begin missing the stars soon when civilization really got back on track.

There was still crime though, so they started walking back to their apartment right before they became drowsy enough to fall asleep. They kissed under one of the newly-built lamplights, and again, at their doorway, and again, on their shabby makeshift couch, and again, wrapped up in their futons. 

Elections happened again, because their old leaders shouldn’t automatically regain authority when the situation was so different. Gen was tempted to run for a smaller position, but then realized all the work involved and immediately decided that it wasn’t for him. 

Senku started training to become an astronaut, but they wouldn’t have the technology nor finances for any more space missions for a while. He didn’t mind, because being away for six-month periods were too long when he was planning on getting married soon.

Senku and Gen’s wedding wasn’t a big event. They had alcohol for the first time in a while, now that they didn’t need to keep it for the sake of revival, and got drunk practically as soon as they took the first sip. They had said their vows though, and they had exchanged their rings. The rings had gone through a series of evolutions. It started as a small ringed rock that they both asked Kaseki to make with a small piece of platinum glued to the center by Yuzuriha. There wasn't exactly a demand for jewels at the time, but as society re-established itself, so did its luxories. Casinos re-opened, as did bars. Shortly afterwards, non-work related accessories began selling again, and Senku had gotten Gen a silver earring because the material reminded him of Gen's silver tongue. Gen retaliated by getting Senku an emerald stud to match his hair, and also because it was the exact shade of the sulfuric acid lake. Eventually, citizens could afford to indulge in more expensive gifts, so stores started selling nicer items. That was when Senku and Gen finally found what they were looking for — a simple platinum band. One of the rarest and nicest elements that didn't look too showy, but still had an obvious worth. Plus, it reminded them of their struggle for civilization, so it was quite the upgrade from their simple studded rock rings. 

Yuzuriha was a bit concerned that they’d crinkle the suits that she’d custom-made for them, as they got pretty energetic when drunk, but then shrugged and figured that it couldn’t be helped. Anyways, her own husband had already sobbed so much that his suit was long-unsalvageable. 

Kohaku and Ruri wanted to find out more about sports, and asked Tsukasa to teach them some from their time. He and some others taught them martial arts along with spearwork and mobility. Whenever they had days off, they would spar in the park. 

Their invention sold well, but for use in research only. Until they could study the causes of reincarnation and why it occurred, they wouldn’t risk having the public expose themselves to danger by testing their own deaths

Senku goes on a space mission when he’s 30. The internet there is terrible, but he and Gen try to text whenever they can. Once he comes back, they decide to adopt a few animals before finally getting a child too. By that point, Gen’s job was back in demand, and he was often found in his study writing and practicing underhanded tricks. 

They had arguments, and rough spots, just like any other relationship, but they would always forgive the other at the end of the day, because one of them was driven by logic and the other was a certified mentalist. They could always find a way to stay calm and compromise before going to sleep.

And whenever the Kingdom of Science’s schedules all lined up, they would keep working in hopes of recovering memories of the long-distant past. They didn’t know if they could ever fully succeed, but sometimes Senku would look at Gen’s hair, and get an overwhelming sense of deja vu even though he sees him every day. It was a work in progress, but they didn't mind leaving the past where it belonged instead of letting it distract from their future. 

But above all, they were happy. The hard part was over when they revived all of humanity. If they could get together in this lifetime, and they found a way to keep their memories, then what’s stopping them from maintaining their happiness for many years to come? And it seemed like the device they created could be stopped at any time by just letting it sit, since it behaved just like a normal tattoo, and would start to fade overtime. Senku and Gen are confident that they'd be able to find each other even without their memories, though it doesn't hurt to have them.

So what was stopping them from achieving happiness? Nothing. And Senku and Gen would make sure of that.

They suffered through the horrible living conditions of the first stone age, the paranoia of the overly-pious priests, and the destruction caused the lifetime right after that. They might have been able to get together in their fourth reincarnation had their society made it more commonplace to be in a homosexual relationship, and they might have gotten together in their fifth one too if they didn't get stuck in stone (and Senku getting subsequently killed right after he was free). 

Senku and Gen have gone through hell (metaphorically) and back for each other, and they're going to enjoy their lives now if it's the last thing they do. And because of their invention, it is — again, and again, and again.

* * *

Fate is a fickle bitch. But that doesn’t mean she can stop two souls who have long decided that they’d stay together. 

Senku and Gen don’t believe in fairytale happy-ever-afters, just like they don’t believe in heaven and hell. Senku still feels occasional shooting pain in his right arm, Gen still has trouble sleeping well. They both struggle looking at bonfires. But surrounded by their friends and family and lover, they’re planning on being happy enough from now on to make up for the lonely eons of the past.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I hope you enjoyed this, it was such a blast to write, and I hope the names weren’t too confusing for anyone. I took Latin in high school so I know a decent amount about Ancient Roman names, but I didn’t want to try to do something with Ancient Egyptian names and mess it up. ~~Also uhh can you tell my only knowledge of british speak is from television? I'm sorry oof~~
> 
> Anyways, I had a specific character in mind for everyone that I named (and for a few that I didn’t), so feel free to keep that in mind if you ever want to go back!
> 
> So yeah, leave a comment if you enjoyed this (or even if you didn’t. Feel free to tell me about any super big historical inaccuracies!!) and hmu on [Tumblr](https://voicelesswaves.tumblr.com/) if you wanna see more of me :D


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